


Fools Like Me

by ForLoveOfLiberTea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Professors, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForLoveOfLiberTea/pseuds/ForLoveOfLiberTea
Summary: Arthur bites his lip, futilely holding back the words which threatened to tumble free from his lips as Alfred held him, granting a trail of kisses to the length of his throat and the underside of his jaw.He can’t lie.He can never lie.





	Fools Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> [ for chunruu and orenjineki on tumblr. originally published May 18th, 2018. ]

It all starts when a book—paperback and annoyingly thick—slams on the upside of his head.

Arthur immediately gets to his feet, an irate tirade already on the very tip of his silver tongue as he whips around. He hasn’t had a break in so damn long, and he’ll be damned if he lets his attacker off the goddamn hook.

Venomous green eyes lock with amused azure behind square lenses, and his breath hitches in his throat. Arthur grabs onto the table situated to his right for balance, made very much aware of the fact that his knees went weak at the husky chuckle which elicited from between those rosy lips.

“Hey, Artie,” he grins, all pearly white teeth and crystal blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, drawing attention to the rippling muscles of his arm, exposed by the tank top he was currently wearing. Arthur tries to swallow, his throat already feeling dry. “How’ve ya’ been?”

The Briton digs his fingernails into wood, darting his gaze away to look elsewhere—anywhere that wasn’t the beautiful, godlike American standing before him. He clears his throat, ultimately deciding to stack his messed up papers into a neat pile in order to give his shaking hands something to do.

“I see that you haven’t changed, _Mister_ Jones,” he replies primly after a brief pause, loosening the knot of his necktie and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. Christ, it really _was_ hot this time of year in this blasted tropical country. “Your brain cells are still evidently lacking—I’ve told you time and time again, my name is Arthur.”

If he’d only taken the risk to glance at the expression on the younger man’s face, he might have seen the hungry look in those blue eyes as they lingered on the exposed curve of his neck, the enticingly slow bob of his Adam’s apple, and down to the dip of his collarbone before the rest disappeared beneath the slackened collar of his dress shirt. As it is, Arthur refuses to look back at his colleague as he gathers his papers back into his folders and stashes them back into his bag.

With that done, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. He shifts, turning his head to look at the younger, “Now, what—”

A broad, calloused hand rests upon the flare of his left hip, its thumb picking at a notch in his belt as a gust of warm breath tickles his ear. “You’re mean, Arthur,” Alfred murmurs against the sensitive shell, his fingers swiftly untucking the Briton’s dress shirt before they slipped beneath the cloth towards the silken smoothness underneath. “Forgetting about all the things we shared before the school year ended..”

He gasps at the touch of lips against the nape of his neck, the first wandering hand joined by the other in trailing patterns against his skin. Arthur closes his eyes, rendered breathless as teeth begin to nip at his flesh, the bites soothed by gentle licks.

“Y- _you’re_ the one who’s ‘mean’,” he finally protests, swallowing back the wanton moans which threaten to break free from his lips. “Taking your pleasure, using me as a means to an end—”

He’s silenced by way of that once-smiling mouth descending and capturing his own in a rough, forceful kiss, his body braced against the table and trapped beneath the warm weight of the taller man. Alfred pulls away with a last bite to his swollen lower lip, drawing Arthur’s shirt up to his ribs.

“Using you?” He demands breathlessly, azure eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “You consented every time we—”

Arthur pushes him off as he sits upright, glaring at the American. “What consent, _Professor Jones?”_ He challenges, jabbing a finger at his chest. “When have you ever asked me if I wanted you?”

“You would never have let me kiss you,” Alfred whispers as he leans in, his words breathed against those parted lips, “much less make love to you, if you didn’t want me, _Professor Kirkland.”_ He smirks, leaving an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of his neck and shoulder.

Arthur bites his lip, futilely holding back the words which threatened to tumble free from his lips as Alfred held him, granting a trail of kisses to the length of his throat and the underside of his jaw.

He can’t lie.

He can never lie.

“There is a boy I am in love with,” he whispers as the American kisses the edge of his mouth, following the movement of his kiss-bruised lips. “A boy who I once thought was a fool to give everything he has to those who reject him. A boy who smiles even when tears fall from his eyes, even when the pain is too great to bear. A boy who cares far too deeply and loves so much, that I want him to be happy, even if he doesn’t seem to love me in the same way as I love him.”

Alfred closes his eyes and smiles as he kisses him, soft and sweet.

“There is a boy I am in love with,” Arthur begins again, his words a mere whisper against the American’s lips.

“And his name is Alfred F. Jones.”

**the end.**


End file.
